


Showing Restraint

by Omorka



Category: Eureka
Genre: Handcuffs, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the course of several of the usual disasters, Jack's noticed Fargo has a thing for his handcuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showing Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy with a touch of angst. Don't think too hard about when in the timeline this is supposed to happen. Written for the prompt "Handcuff Kink" for the LJ community Rounds Of Kink's Round 12.

It started innocently enough, given that it was a crime scene. The remote-control roller sped through the red light, and Jo shot after it on the new police motorcycle, siren blazing. Jack and Fargo were about a block behind her. Fargo's eyes flicked back and forth between the screen of his laptop and the plexiglas display he was holding out the window. "Left, turn left. He's figured out it's being followed. I don't think he's trying to bring it home now."

Jack turned left, mentally trying to follow the sound of Jo's siren. Fargo reached further out the window. "Signal's getting stronger. Three blocks and then hang a right, I think."

"On Faraday or on Edison?" Jack's eye was firmly on the road.

"Faraday." Fargo looked back at the laptop. "Okay, I have a lock on the source of the signal, assuming that there's only one source." The color of the tracking light on the plexiglas gadget changed from green to blinking red. "Oh, crap, he stopped transmitting. I still have the location of the last set of transmissions, though."

"He's probably making a break for it." Jack made the turn. His radio came to life. "Lupo here. The roller has been apprehended, and its cargo space does contain the missing chemicals from the photography lab."

"Did you catch up to it, or did it shut off?" Jack asked, as Fargo pointed to the house at the end of the block.

"More or less both at once," Jo answered. "I pulled up beside it, and it was like it surrendered."

"Did you point a gun at it?" Jack asked, pulling into the driveway. The garage door triggered. He turned to Fargo. "You might want to get down."

"No. Should I?" came Jo's voice. Fargo crouched behind the dashboard. The plexiglas shimmered and flashed green. "Carter, I'm picking up another set of signals - "

Something that looked a lot like a tractor crossed with a hedgehog burst through a bright blue tarp and rolled out of the garage, straight for the Jeep. "It's another remote," reported Fargo.

"Can you jam it?" Carter opened his door cautiously, as the new vehicle pulled to a stop in front of them and reared back on its hind wheels.

"Easy peasy." Fargo pulled the trigger on the back of the gadget; it began flashing in a complex pattern of white and red. The new remote jerked backwards, shuddered as if its engine were failing, and then stopped dead. Jack jumped out of the Jeep and ran for the house, just as a tall, very skinny man emerged through the garage door.

"It's not what you think!" the tall man protested as Jack caught him by the arm.

"What I think isn't all that important at the moment," Jack said. "You'll get a chance to defend yourself. But for right now, you're under arrest for theft, for reckless endangerment, and for - how many was it, Jo?"

"Twenty-seven," the radio responded.

"Twenty-seven different traffic violations." Jack began pulling the man in the direction of the truck.

"Screw you!" shouted the thin man, and he pulled something out of his back pocket and leveled it at the Jeep. Jack saw Fargo duck back down out of the corner of his eye, as he twisted the tall man's arm behind him. The weapon fell to the ground. Jack didn't know what it was, but it sure looked like a weapon. He reached for his handcuffs and secured the man's wrists behind him.

Fargo was grinning when Jack brought the perpetrator back to the Jeep. His eyes kept traveling to the thin man's hands.

\---

It wasn't that the street lights along Main had decided to become deadly x-ray lasers that bothered Sheriff Carter so much. It was, he decided, how many people seemed to think that wasn't a threat worth going out of their way to avoid. Corralling the unruly mob in the recreation area of the park was taking up all of his and Jo's attention.

"Vince!" He launched himself at the chef, tackling him before he broke away from the crowd for the third time. They went down in an anise-scented heap; Vince tried to scramble away from him, despite still holding most of Jack's weight. "My flat-leafed parsley! My summer savory! Sheriff, they're flash-drying my entire herb garden!" he howled, kicking up clods of dirt as he scrabbled at the ground for purchase.

Jack pinned his knees and grabbed for his radio. "Zane, how's it coming up there?"

"We're working on it. Whoever programmed the targeting routines is a certified wacko; even S.A.R.A.H.'s having trouble deciphering some of this code. Henry's filter's holding, though." Zane and Fargo were in a cherry-picker's bucket attached to Henry's tow truck, hoisted up to the the control box at Main and Pythagoras, frantically attempting to crack the lasers' programming. Henry was down below, trying the more brute-force method of interrupting their power supplies; unfortunately, being partially solar powered, this was trickier than it looked. Still, he had successfully rigged a polarized film that protected the three of them - and, not incidentally, the tow truck - from the lasers themselves.

Another blast rang out down the street, followed by the sound of shattering glass. "No, not the windows, I just had them cleaned and microabrasion-coated!" Vince squirmed under Jack.

"I really don't want to have to, especially because I know for a fact you'll slip me decaf in the Vinspressos for a month if I do, but Vince, you've got to stop that or I'm going to have to use restraints on you." Jack tried to sound calm. He glanced up to find whether or not he had backup; Jo was further down the barricade, threatening to taser Seth if he moved again. Great. He really hoped the mad botanist didn't try to push his luck on that.

"But that's my life's work they're zapping! I have to do something!" The chef made a surprise roll to the right and nearly succeeded in throwing Jack off. Regretfully, Jack tugged the cuffs from his belt, securing one to Vince's wrist and the other to the bicycle rack they'd dragged into the barricade.

The radio crackled, and then Henry was shouting from it: "Jack, we've almost got it, but the targeting program has figured out that the polarized film blocks it. It's targeting the supports. We need a distraction!"

"Distraction. Right," Jack snapped into the radio, and looked around, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced back towards the Jeep. What was there in a recreation area in Eureka that would distract laser lampposts?

A few moments later, a golf ball shot past the cherry-picker. The lasers stopped firing, as if confused. Zane and Fargo shared a glance and a shrug before diving back into the tangle of semi-self-aware code.

A flurry of small, white, dimpled projectiles assaulted the lamp-posts as Jack dodged from car to mailbox to tree, trying to maintain cover while keeping his pitching arm clear. The lasers vaporized several, tiny puffs of smoke spreading from the impact points. The assault on the polarizing film slowed.

Henry made a break for it and joined Jack behind a ligustrum. He grabbed a handful of balls from the bucket Jack had hung from his belt and added to the diversion. "I've cut off their access to the Eureka power grid, so now they're running solely off their solar cells. That won't knock them out completely, but we should see their rate of fire drop significantly." He fired off a curveball at the closest laser. "As soon as our two hackers get the targeting system offline - "

Zane let off a blistering string of profanity as a beam grazed the cherry-picker; Fargo shrieked and cringed.

"Damn," Jack growled, and fired off two fastballs directly at the lens of the lamp targeting the two younger scientists. One became a smear of vapor; the laser attempted a shot at the second one, buzzed, and flickered out. The golf ball impacted in a shower of glass.

"Let's hope we don't have to do that to too many more of these," grinned Henry. "Those lamp-hoods are expensive."

"Normally, I'd say you could take it out of my pay," answered the sheriff, tossing a couple wide, "but I'm guessing you mean expensive even for here."

"Well, it's less than a month's salary, anyway," the engineer shrugged, skimming a ball low to the ground. The shots were coming infrequently, and the low whine of charging capacitors buzzed in their ears.

With a _ka-chunk,_ the lasers all suddenly swiveled back to their original positions. Zane whooped and high-fived Fargo, who promptly nearly lost his balance and clutched at the side of their bucket. "We got it! The targeting system is offline."

Henry hustled back to the tow truck to lower them back to ground level. Jack made his way back to Jo. "Let's keep everyone here until Henry gives the all-clear."

"Got it." Jo brandished her taser, as if daring anyone to move again. The crowd hung back, nervously.

A few minutes later, Henry, Zane, and Fargo jogged up. "That's it," Henry announced, thumping Jack on the shoulder. "We've disabled all the weaponized systems. The streets will be a little dark tonight, but they'll be safe."

"Okay, everyone, as you were!" barked Jo, and the crowd streamed past, back to their shops.

As Jack unshackled Vince, the two of them nervously and insincerely apologizing to each other, the sheriff couldn't help noticing the strange look Fargo was giving the chef - wet, longing, and envious.

\---

The flock of mechanical locusts - Jack still wanted to double over laughing whenever he thought about it, at least until he saw another one - buzzed at the windows of the abandoned fishing cabin, flinging their tiny metal bodies against the glass. "How's it coming?"

"It's almost done. I can't believe Larry screwed up the positive and negative terminals." Fargo scrabbled in the guts of Taggart's homing beacon with a screwdriver and a tiny pair of pliers. "I've got the wires switched back; I just need to reconnect the power source."

A flight of locusts flung themselves against the window of the bunkroom they were in; the glass cracked abruptly. "Hurry up, Fargo, we're running out of time."

"Don't rush me," whined the scientist. "You really don't want me making a mistake on this."

"You're right about that," Jack grumbled. He was glad their tiny silicon brains were designed to replicate the behavior of actual locusts; they hadn't learned anything from their sortie against the window and were back to battering it individually.

"Okay, got it." Fargo stood up. "Now what?"

"Now you explain to me how to turn it on, and you stay right here until I tell you it's safe." Jack frowned at the smaller man; the last thing he needed was Fargo trying to play the hero and then suddenly having a panic attack out there.

"No way. What if it breaks again? It's not like _you_ can fix it." Fargo pouted slightly. Great, he was trying to be heroic after all.

"It's not going to break, Fargo; you just fixed it." Jack figured Fargo would be too proud to argue with that.

Instead, he took another tack. "What if they manage to take you down? Who's going to deliver the payload?"

Another barrage assaulted the windows; one of the ones in the bathroom cracked this time. "Fargo, we don't have time for this." Jack reached for his belt with one hand, and the smaller man's slender wrist with the other. He expected Fargo to struggle, or at least pull away, but instead, he froze. Jack snapped one cuff on that pale wrist, and the other to the headboard of the closest bunk. "I said, stay here." Jack slapped the protrusion on the bottom of the homing device that looked like an on switch, and was rewarded with a high-pitched whine. He spun and ran out the door as the spattering at the windows grew louder, banging it closed behind him.

The tiny metal bodies slammed into him like a sandstorm as soon as he cleared the doorsill. The tiny "ping" noises they made as they flung themselves into the homing device sounded like a hurricane on a tin roof. Jack put his head down, shielding his eyes with one hand, and raced down the unpaved path from the cabin to the wooden pier that stretched one finger out into the icy lake.

Jack reached the end of the rickety planks, spun twice, and flung the homing beacon like a discus. It sailed away from him, skipping once on the frozen surface, trailing a stream of mechanical locusts behind it. It struck a second time, cracking the thin film of ice, and sank like, well, not a stone so much as a metal cylinder.

The buzzing cloud converged on the hole in the ice and dove for it. The hole grew wider, two feet, three feet, two yards. The mechanical hum subsided.

Snowflakes settled in Jack's hair. There was no sign of the locusts resurfacing.

"Good news, Fargo; your and Taggart's device did the trick . . . " Jack burst back into the cabin. Fargo had apparently decided lying down with his hand attached to the headboard was more comfortable than standing; he sat up, startled, and yelped as he nearly dislocated his wrist. Jack took three steps across the room towards him, his hand reaching for his keyring -

And then he stopped, as his mind replayed _exactly_ what position Fargo had been in when he threw open the door.

His eyes raked over the younger man. Fargo's face was red, now, with embarrassment, but it had been flushed before. His pupils were wide, even for the dim room on a cloudy day. And his free hand had definitely been . . .

Well. This was an interesting development. An echo of Nathan sardonically wishing the two of them a "happily ever after" skittered through his memory; he shook his head to dislodge it.

"Fargo, are you okay?" he asked, and chided himself for how stupid it sounded as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Fine, I'm fine," squeaked Fargo, his voice even higher than S.A.R.A.H.'s. "Nothing wrong at all." He squirmed and half-crossed his legs, trying and utterly failing to hide the hard-on tenting his slacks.

"Oh, okay." Jack rubbed the back of his neck, wondering what to do.

What he wanted to do.

_Who_ he wanted to do.

Ah, hell. At least the cabin was private.

"Happy thoughts," he murmured under his breath.

"What?"

"Do you want me to let you go, Fargo?" he asked, his voice low and carefully level.

"Uh, um," the smaller man stammered. He looked out the window at the snow kissing the glass and melting. In a very small voice, he admitted "No, not really. I mean, yes. But not yet."

Jack settled his hip on the edge of the bed. "Give me your other wrist."

Fargo complied. Jack unlocked the manacle on the headboard and attached it to Fargo's left wrist, the short links between the cuffs looped behind a wooden rung of the bed. "There. Much better."

Fargo wriggled. "Not that I'm, I mean, um, what are you doing, Sheriff?"

Jack smirked. "Smart guy like you can't figure that out, Fargo? I'm surprised." He reached over and ran one hand down the flat plane of the scientist's stomach, the fabric of the polo shirt bunching and then slipping under his palm. Fargo shivered and arched his back, involuntarily.

"Oh," he responded weakly.

"You've been looking at those," Jack nodded towards the cuffs, "for weeks now." He curled one finger along the smaller man's jaw. "You've just about been drooling." The backs of his knuckles traced Fargo's throat and the hollow of his neck. "Normally, I don't like using them; that's really more Jo's thing." A hand traveled up the scientist's arm to the captured wrist, steel glinting against pale skin. "But when someone _wants_ them . . . ."

"I don't have a lot of control over my life," Fargo murmured. "It's . . . comforting . . . for that to be something I can see and feel, instead of me waiting for it to blindside me out of nowhere." Jack slid his hands under the younger man's shirt, and Fargo arched into the touch, his arms straining slightly at the bonds.

Jack nudged the thin knit fabric further up Fargo's chest. His fingers encountered the improbable thatch of hair, so thick on someone so pale. A clear line pointed downwards; Jack edged the tip of one finger into Fargo's waistband and was rewarded with a gasp.

"You know I just want to keep you safe," Jack continued, his voice low and heavy. "I've almost watched you die twice, now, and come closer than anyone needs to half a dozen times." His hands brushed the smaller man's nipples, hard with need and maybe the chill outside, too.

Fargo stifled a moan as his feet dug into the thin mattress of the bunk. "I know. You're kind of the town Dad as much as the sheriff."

Jack shook his head. "That's not it. I mean, yeah, I do that, but - you in particular." He followed the muscles of Fargo's thighs through the thin fabric of his chinos. Why was Fargo dressed so lightly when it was below freezing outside? "When you were in the force field bubble - I thought we were going to lose you. It hit me kind of hard." One hand skated over the younger man's erection, and Fargo writhed, the cuffs clanking against each other. "I guess I feel like I should be looking out for you."

"Thank you," Fargo gasped, forcing his eyes to focus. They were wide and full of desperate wanting as they found the older man's face.

Jack leaned down and kissed Fargo, tentatively at first, then fiercely as the young scientist tried to devour his mouth. Jack very carefully put one hand on either side of Fargo's trapped arms and eased himself on top of the smaller man.

"Oh, god, yes," whimpered Fargo, pressing his heels into the bed and pushing himself up into Jack's weight.

"Easy, there." Jack inhaled sharply as his own erection pressed against Fargo's through their clothing. "It's not like you can catch me if I lose my balance, here."

Fargo shook his head, his eyes heavy-lidded, nearly closed. "I'm completely at your mercy."

"Let me guess: you like it that way." Jack rolled his hips against Fargo before he could reply again; the tremor that ran through the younger man and the enthusiasm his own hips responded with were reply enough.

Eyes completely closed now, Fargo tilted his head back, every muscle straining upwards into Jack as he rocked his hips. His mouth fell open slightly as his breathing sped up, punctuated by short half-gasping groans. Jack felt his own face flush as the pressure in his groin began to build; like this, Fargo looked so wanton, so _tasty_, his vulnerability written in every nook of his face and body.

"Harder, Carter. Don't be gentle with me." Fargo tugged against the cuffs as he undulated. "I . . . want it to hurt, just a little bit."

"I'm really not into that," Jack objected, but he ground harder into Fargo anyway, and the smaller man keened in pleasure.

Slow pressure was building in Jack like a steam engine, and each gulp, hiccup, whimper, and half-formed word tumbling from Fargo's reddened lips stoked the flames. He lowered himself a little further, letting the scientist's lithe little body take more of his weight as he thrust against him, and claimed Fargo's mouth again, tasting him hungrily as he panted.

Fargo went utterly still, rigid as a glass rod, his eyes still shut. He trembled, once, twice, and an "oh" so quiet it was almost swallowed by the bunk's squeaking slipped from him. And then he went completely limp.

For a moment, Jack froze, afraid the scientist had fainted, but Fargo's eyes fluttered half open again, warm with wordless gratitude. Jack redoubled his efforts, groaned into Fargo's shoulder, and shuddered into his own release.

"Thank you," Fargo whispered in his ear as he caught his breath.

"No problem," gulped the sheriff. He glanced out the window. "Aw, crap."

"What?" Fargo tried to sit up and was caught short by the cuffs again; he dropped back onto the thin mattress, startled.

"It's snowing like crazy," Jack grumbled. "The twisty little road that leads up here isn't going to be safe in this weather."

"Whoops," said Fargo, but he was grinning. Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "I guess we'll just be snowed in together a little longer." The grin became a smirk.

"When did your luck turn around?" asked Jack, but he was shaking his head and smirking back. He did, however, neglect to release Fargo from the bed while he went to find some firewood. From the weakness of the scientist's protests, Jack figured he didn't really mind.


End file.
